The Deathly Day Affair
by girl in the glen
Summary: On a quick and easy mission, Illya is exposed to a deadly bacteria. How will Napoleon save his partner this time? Thanks to Avery1 for her comment about the satrap.
1. Chapter 1

"There needs to be a resolution to this situation. What do you suggest?" The blond was ducking his head inside of a wall safe, examining the contents before depositing an incendiary device that would destroy them at the appointed time.

"I think we should consider the possibility that this office is bugged, and we've been found out. The guards will be on their way soon, and we are going to be spending Thanksgiving in a Thrush cell. What's to resolve?" Napoleon Solo was observing his partner as he rummaged through the pile of documents inside the safe, looking for a sign of the evidence they needed to substantiate the presence of a deadly bacteria…another deadly bacteria…from the Thrush labs.

"Exactly. What are we going to do about it?" Illya Kuryakin was having no luck in his search, and hated the idea that they might be captured and held here with nothing to show for their efforts.

"We might consider just blowing up the place; at least it would satisfy my frustration at our lack of success here". The last part of that sentence was punctuated with a grimace of pain as his hand grazed something at the back of the safe. Hidden from view, it projected out of the metal enclosure a mere inch or so, but was sharp enough to draw blood. The Russian pulled his hand out quickly, examining the puncture in his thumb and the blood that was quickly bubbling through his flesh.

"What's that?" His partner took his hand and immediately came to the conclusion that Illya had already reached.

"I would assume that this is our bacteria. It is, it seems, the perfect foil for the uninvited". The Russian's droll observation belied his very real concern over the grim truth of this unfortunate incident. Napoleon was thinking, or trying to think. How much time? Is there an antidote?

"We need someone who knows what this is…how much time until…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question. If this were, indeed, the item for which they had been looking and matched the deadly details that had been leaked, then…

"Napoleon…look at me!" Illya needed action right now, not melancholy and regret. His partner didn't have time to consider what might happen later. Action was all that would save his life.

"We don't need the formula any longer. My blood will supply that for the labs. I don't see any sign of a container of any sort, nothing in the paperwork here. Let's get back to HQ and start on analyzing what we do have…me."

The logic was sound, and his voice even as he spoke to his shaken partner. Napoleon knew he was right, and immediately was on the move as they both headed for the door they had come through earlier. As he poked his head around the corner, there were no guards in sight; something made him wonder if this hadn't been a set up from the beginning. It would be a very efficient way to eliminate UNCLE agents and test the formula without the messiness of holding them in a cell. Maybe Thrush had started to think creatively for a change.

The two men headed down the hallway, passing empty rooms along the way. The building was deserted except for them, not typical of a Thrush satrap. _Why_? Napoleon was thinking as they made their way out of the building and headed for their car. The tan Cougar sat halfway down the block from where they exited, but Illya walked instead of running in the normal escape mode. He needed to keep his system from spreading the poison more quickly, so he slowed his movements, then stopped completely.

"Napoleon, will you come back and pick me up here…I feel as though I should move as little as possible". The dark eyes examined his friend and noted that the blond was beginning to pale slightly, his breathing more halting than usual. It was beginning…

"Yes, let me go and get it…are you feeling…?" Illya nodded his head…

"I'm fine. I just need to not speed the process". Time was what he needed now; time to get back to headquarters, and time for the labs to start to work on an antidote. He just hoped that he had time; that the clock wasn't ticking down so quickly that he wouldn't be able to stop this…death.

Napoleon ran to the waiting car, started it and then backed up to retrieve his partner. Illya didn't waste any time getting in, and as the door was closing the car raced down to the end of the block and made a screeching turn as it headed for the freeway and back to UNCLE…back to the only hope that Illya had.

"Open channel G…this is Kuryakin. I want to speak to Mr. Miller in the labs". Illya had decided to alert the team to what was coming. The first stop would be in medical, but he needed the lab personnel to be prepared to begin immediately with the analyzing of blood samples. Hopefully they would be able to separate the elements and isolate the formula; that was what would give them building blocks for an antidote.

"Ned, I've been exposed to something…unknown. The information on this Thrush entity is in the files for today's mission. You will need that, and then my blood samples. I don't know what the time element is, however I am beginning to feel some effect from this bacteria". The information was so minimal, only an optimist could begin to have any hope that the abrasion on Illya's thumb wouldn't prove fatal. Only a sincere desire to not die was precluding his normal pessimism; he wasn't quite ready to acquiesce to death at the hands of a random bit of fate.

"Illya, how did you become infected? Do you have any samples?" The lab technician _was_ an optimist, and hopeful that there was more than blood on which to base his quest for the man's recovery.

Illya proceeded to fill the man in on all of the details, the same precision with which he wrote his reports now going into a narrative that might be the difference between life and death.

As the two agents pulled into the underground parking garage, Napoleon aimed for the entrance to medical. It was the same spot where UNCLE ambulances and harried agents deposited the dead and wounded after the endless cavalcade of dramatic missions and tragic encounters with the enemy. How many times had these two made their way into headquarters via this entrance? _Too many times._

The medical team was waiting for them, and Illya was immediately thrust into a wheelchair, limiting the need for him to utilize his limbs and speed the invading poisons through his body. His complexion had faded into an even paler hue than Napoleon had observed on the street. He was having difficulty breathing as well, and the CEA of UNCLE Northwest suddenly felt completely useless. He wasn't a scientist or a doctor, and his contribution to saving his partner was now reduced to prayers and encouragement. There had to be something he could do now, a Thrush agent who knew of an antidote or …

"Illya, I have an idea about where to locate someone with answers. Are you going to be alright…I mean…" Illya looked up, his brows knitted in a puzzled expression above the increasingly dull eyes.

"Napoleon, there is nothing left for me but to wait. Others will have to do the work that will solve this puzzle. Go and do what you must. I will…be here". He let his lips curl into that abbreviated smile that had become such a precious commodity to the senior partner. He needed to make sure he saw the full smile on his friend's face. Illya had to live, and he was beginning to believe there was a way he could make it happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon left the medical section and headed to his office. He needed to go back over the details of their initial report on the Thrush satrap they had just left. Something about it was niggling his brain as though there were details they had overlooked, or perhaps thought inconsequential to the mission. It was unlike either of them to be careless with the elements of a report, and yet they had overlooked something.

As the doors were whooshing open at the recognition of his ID badge, his communicater chirped in a now intrusive manner, his thoughts so absorbed in the task at hand.  
"This is Solo..."  
"Ah, Mr. Solo...' The voice of his superior had that almost imperceptible edge of concern...  
"How is Mr. Kuryakin? I understand he is now situated in medical, with tests underway". He had been checking on them, it would seem.  
"Yes sir, the lab people and medical are all involved in the effort to isolate the components of this bacteria or virus...whatever it is. It seems to be acting like a poison in his system, although that was not the information we had received, initially. Illya is already showing signs..." He couldn't finish the sentence. Once again, his emotions were overwhelmed by the situation and the possibilities inherent in it. Illya was in danger, and Napoleon feared that he might be dying.  
"I am confident that our people will do everything possible, Mr. Solo. Nothing will be overlooked. And, what are your plans...I assume you have something in mind". The old man knew him really well, as well as he knew himself perhaps.  
"I am going to re-examine the initial report, sir. I believe there will be a clue in there as to the actual purpose of that building...the satrap we entered. It was empty...completely empty. I believe it was a trap, and the manner in which Illya contracted this poison or bacteria...whatever it is...was intended to stop us in our tracks. It has, obviously, succeeded there. There must be something to direct me to whoever contrived this situation".  
His head was beginning to pound, and he absent mindedly rubbed his forehead in an effort to relieve the ache.  
"Mr. Solo, proceed carefully. If this is indeed the outcome that was envisioned by Thrush, then there will be a mastermind, and a purpose to it. It is possible that they knew who would be investigating, in which case we must identify the source of that leak; whether it be personnel or equipment, it must be stopped".  
"Yes sir. I understand. I'm going to go through this report and then stop by medical on my way out. I'll report in with whatever I find".  
"Very well, then. And, please give my best to Mr. Kuryakin, and let him know all of UNCLE is behind the effort to find the antidote to this...this menace".  
Napoleon half smiled at the old man's nod to affection for his agents. "Yes sir, I'll do that".

Napoleon turned to the folder on his desk, his mind tuning itself to the task of unraveling the clues that he hoped to find there. Had Thrush known it would be Illya and him investigating the satrap? Perhaps the entire thing had been devised for that purpose. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that they had been targeted by some Thrush chief as a means to gain some type of notoriety within the hierarchy. Flattering as it might be in some instances, this time it held a more deadly consequence than the usual bait and trap strategies. At least with those, they had the opportunity to fight their way free of their tormentors or captors. This, though...Illya might not have a chance unless he could uncover something usefull in this file; the labs and doctors were doing their part but...what if they couldn't work fast enough?  
With that in mind, he opened the file and began to read through it carefully, making notes whenever something caught his attention as being of even the slightest importance. He had been working on this for over an hour when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver, fearing a report from medical but not able to ignore the call.

"Hello..." He heard a sigh on the other end before the caller proceeded with the conversation.  
"Napoleon, this is Dr. Tower. Mr. Waverly called me in to help with Mr. Kuryakin. Can you come down to medical?"  
"Of course, but...how is Illya? Is there something..." His heart was beating faster than normal and a lump began to form in his throat.  
"Just please, I think you should get down here". With that Napoleon grunted an assent to the request, grabbed his suit jacket and headed down to the elevator and on to medical. He arrived just as a beeping noise was filling the hallway, and he saw a number of medical personnel heading for what he knew was Illya's room. The steel walls were colder than usual, the colorless environment now somehow a predictor or what his life would be like if...he couldn't think that way. He ran towards the gathering crowd, hoping that it wasn't too late.  
"What's going on? Illya..." Napoleon felt himself cross over into a panic, then pulled himself together, not wanting to appear out of control; he was the CEA, for god's sake.  
"Mr. Solo, he's fine now. We just had a bit of a scare as his blood pressure suddenly dropped. I was concerned and assumed you wanted to be here in case...well, we didn't reach that point". Dr. Tower was normally Mr. Waverly's physician, and the import of his presence here was not overlooked by anyone in the assemblage of doctors and nurses who had gathered around the Russian's bed. Mr. Waverly was revealing his own feelings by summoning his private physician to the scene.  
"Thank you, doctor. I assumed the worst...it...' he sighed as the realization that everything was under control, that Illya wasn't dead or near death. Not yet anyway.  
"I'm relieved to see that you have things under control. How is he? I haven't heard from the labs yet on their search for an antidote". The dark hair was tousled from running his fingers through it repeatedly as he had read and searched through the report on the Thrush satrap and the biological threat they'd gone after. Now, standing in medical among the white clothed employees, his own dark appearance in the charcoal grey suit he wore, his hair and eyes, made him stand out as though an ink splotch on an otherwise white background. Suddenly feeling out of place among these professionals, he sought out a space alongside his partner. Illya was somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. His body was beginning to succumb to whatever had been on that prick of metal in the safe. Just that one small motion in the darkness of that enclosure, and here he lay with no defense against the poisons or bacteria that had been let loose on him. How long would it take for the labs to get something?  
"Mr. Solo...' A nurse came up behind him, disturbing his thoughts and fears...  
"Mr. Miller from the labs, he's waiting on line 4 to speak with you". She sympathized with the agent, and looked once again at the pale form that lay lifeless in the bed. She'd had occasion periodically to care for the blond agent and, like many of the women in UNCLE New York, had a few fantasies about the man. Now, looking at him here like this, her heart sank a little at the prospect of what may lie ahead. There would be massive mourning if he didn't make it.  
Napoleon picked up the phone and nearly shouted into it.  
"Ned, what do you have?" His voice sounded steady in spite of his state of mind. Ned, always the professional, knew that the man had to be stretched to whatever boundaries held him together. Everyone recognized the friendship shared by the two agents.  
"Napoleon, we do have something. What Illya was exposed to is not bacterial or viral. That was a misleading report you got on the substance. It's a poison, and a very nasty one. We've isolated it however, and should have an antidote within the next few hours. Of course, we have to hope that we're in time. I'm sorry...that's really the best I can offer right now. But, at least we know what we're dealing with". He ended that with a sincere wish that he could do more, and do it quickly.  
"I understand Ned. Thank you, that is a huge leap from knowing nothing at all. I'm headed for the satrap where we encountered this. I believe there might be something there to help us speed this along. I'll be in contact with you, in any event". With that, Napoleon glanced back to Illya's room, knowing there was nothing for him to do there. Illya would have to make it through the next two or three hours. Anything contrary to that was unacceptable.


	3. Chapter 3

One of the things that Napoleon had seen to already was insuring the company of another agent. As much as he was normally confident about going alone, the severity of the consequences should he fail made him yield to the wisdom of taking along a second set of eyes. As luck or the spy gods would have it, April Dancer was in the building and available.

"Napoleon, how is he?" The dark eyes met in a wistful embrace between friends. She had an affection for the Russian that mingled with awe and fear. At times it seemed as though they might have had a romantic relationship if not for the confines of their professions. Then again, April felt that way about Napoleon as well. Only her partner Mark Slade escaped the fantasies that women are capable of spinning. Someone had to play big brother.  
"He's holding his own, but it's getting serious now. Between the labs and what we might find, an antidote to this is the only thing that will save him. I can't let him down...I..." April placed her hand on the CEA's arm, a gesture of friendship and support. The team of Solo and Kuryakin had to survive this.  
"He'll make it, Napoleon. We'll make sure of it. Just, let's get going, shall we. You can fill me in more on the way over".

With that they were out the doors of medical and back into the parking garage where Napoleon had left his car. While studying the paperwork on the satrap, the bogus descriptions of the so-named bacteria and the people involved, the American had decided that there would still be evidence and perhaps samples at the satrap. If the entire thing had been scripted to play out as it had, then there would be someone in charge of that. Thrush were not known for their modesty, and whoever it was would want credit, would perhaps still be there arranging the scene for the benefit of his own ego. Napoleon hoped that was the case; he hoped to find an antidote already mixed and the villain who had caused this drama to unfold. If Illya didn't survive this, he needed someone to be responsible. He needed his revenge.

It was a over a half hour drive to the building in the Bronx. The traffic was mostly cooperative, although the stops and starts were beginning to create that headache again. April watched her superior beneath a fringe of black lashes, cutting away with a deftness borne of her profession whenever he felt her eyes on him. She knew what was driving him now; it wasn't just duty and the need to catch the Thrush responsible. He had to save his partner, and she would help in the only way available to her at the moment. All of her skills and instincts would be on high alert for any sign of the person responsible, and together, hopefully, they would find what Napoleon so desperately wanted to find; what Illya so desperately needed.  
They pulled up in front of the building, Napoleon no longer trying to hide the fact that he was aware of it. If anyone was inside, they might as well get ready. Fear produces mistakes, and Thrush was awash with both. Napoleon nodded to April to head for the front door. He had his gun out, and she did likewise. There were still no signs of life here, and as he reached for the doorknob, it turned easily. Unlocked. Okay, we'll play it like this. When he and Illya had been there earlier in the day, the blond had pointed out a door on the right as being the laboratory. The only reason they didn't investigate it was the lack of time, and the information they had gathered that told them the formula was in the safe, in an office at the back of the building. Had Illya not contracted the poison they would have investigated farther, but as it had happened they took the quickest course in exiting the building to get him back to medical.  
Now, the lab was the first place Napoleon would visit. He motioned for April to keep an eye on the hallway as he nudged the door. Again, it was unlocked. He pushed the door open and entered the room, only to find everything in complete chaos. Tables were turned over, papers on the floor and a safe at the end of the room appeared to have been breached.

He made his way past the overturned tables and stools, wading through the paperwork and occasional implement that he recognized from the UNCLE labs. Inside the safe were empty shelves that perhaps proved the report had been accurate; the information he needed was not here. Or, someone else had done this damage in a search for the same thing he sought. But, who else except for Thrush would be here?

"Napoleon, is everything alright?" April now stood in the doorway, her head turned to survey the mess. Her face conveyed the confusion that Napoleon was feeling.  
"I don't know, April. I thought sure there would be something here. But, look at it...someone else has it, or is still looking for it". He had a sinking feeling that his instincts had failed him. Thrush had left nothing, and the trap that had poisoned Illya was all that was left of the lethal plan. It had only one purpose, it seemed; to kill one or both of them.

Napoleon and April each took opposite directions and made one more inspection of the satrap. Whatever had been its purpose was no longer evident. Rooms that had held personnel, desks and typewriters...all of it was gone. Only a few scraps of paper were left as a ghostly reminder that the building had ever been used. One piece of paper caught Napoleon's eye. As he bent down to retrieve it, a bullet whizzed past his head and he slammed himself onto the floor, rolling to the wall and then rising, gun in hand, in one fluid movement. When he had fully focused on the figure in the doorway, April was holding her special to the man's head as he dropped his own weapon to the floor.  
"Who are you? And, why are you shooting at me?" The usually calm demeanor was eroding beneath his worry for Illya, and the lack of success in finding what he had come for. Being shot at further decreased any desire to be charming.  
"I...I thought you were one of those...I'm sorry". The poor man obviously was unaccustomed to having a gun at his temple, and the stress of being both hunter and prey was about to bring him to tears.  
"Again, who are you?" Napoleon required answers, and this little man was going to provide some.  
"My name is Leonard Palmeras...Dr. Leonard Palmeras. I am responsible..." April nearly gasped as she realized this man might be the answer they needed. Napoleon held his reaction in check, needing to maintain control of the situation.  
"Responsible for what, Dr. Palmeras? Please, tell me all about it". Please tell me that you can cure Illya.  
"You are looking for the poison, are you not? And, perhaps, the antidote..." The little man's eyebrows shot up in an inquisitive punctuation to his question. He was small and grey, just like the walls at headquarters...all grey. He had the same steely expression now, and he knew the balance of power had shifted to his advantage.  
"You are Mr. Solo, aren't you? I regret what happened to your partner. Is he still...is he alive?" The question had more a scientific curiosity than a concern for a man's life. Napoleon recognized it, knew that the man was indeed Thrush. It was impossible for any of them to think outside of their own well being.  
"Yes, he is alive. I'm guessing it's no thanks to you. Do you have the antidote?" What other question could there be? He needed it, had to get it back to medical...to Illya.

"Oh, he must be extremely willful, that one. Most men have not survived so long...er...well, it was tested you know. Thrush made me do it. You believe that, don't you?" Napoleon did not believe it, but right now he didn't much care.  
"We're going back to UNCLE, and you're going to provide an antidote and save my partner. You believe that, don't you?" The man tried to step back as the UNCLE agent bore into the man's space, pinning him with his eyes and challenging him to object.  
"Yes, I suppose we will. Thrush has abandoned this place. I hid from them you know, and they left without me. They were afraid that UNCLE would show up and take them all...it was such a daring thing to try and kill you and Kuryakin. Oh, yes we knew it would be you two...it was planned that way. Who else would UNCLE send on something this important?"  
April and Napoleon listened, unsure of the man's state of mind. He seemed to be verging on a type of euphoria as he told his narrative of the events. And yet, there was a ring of truth to it. Perhaps he had gone mad, and Thrush no longer trusted him...would have done away with him had he been located.  
"Do you have any of the antidote here? Can you make it?" There was only one thing worth pursuing. The antidote was everything right now. If the doctor couldn't help then he would still have valuable information.  
"Oh, do you mean this?" And with that, he pulled a small vial out of his pocket and handed it to Napoleon. Shock and relief flooded the agent as he gladly accepted the proferred item. April's mouth hung open for just a second before she gathered herself and took her friend's hand, examining the vial within it.  
"You mean, you've had this all along? Why didn't you say so?" Why indeed had the man hedged? Was there more to this than...  
"Oh, well...I suppose it just needed to be 'in the nick of time', as they say. You friend is undoubtedly very near death at the moment". Pausing only for the shocked instant it took for him to digest that sentence, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and called in to headquarters...  
"Open channel D...this is Solo..."  
"Yes, Mr. Solo. Have you had any luck. Things here are..." Waverly paused just long enough to let Napoleon know that things were bad.  
"things here are rather tense. Mr. Kuryakin appears to be...regretfully...dying". April choked back a gasp and Napoleon wasted no time in grabbing Dr. Palmeras' arm, pulling him towards the entrance of the building. The three of them hustled down towards the car, practically throwing the mad little man into the back seat while the two agents flung themselves into their own. Within seconds they were hurtling down the street, screeching around the same corner that Napoleon and Illya had taken on two wheels earlier that day.

"Damn you, Palmeras! What's your plan, anyway? Do you expect to be welcomed into UNCLE's arms with this stunt. If Kuryakin dies, so help me..."  
"So help you what, Mr. Solo. I have given you the antidote. I designed the poison myself. Are you telling me that UNCLE won't make a place for me? You're wrong. I'm a valuable new asset, and I have information that your Mr. Waverly will be only too happy to accept, regardless of whether or not we make it back in time to save your unfortunate partner. It could just as easily have been you, you know. It only mattered that it was one of you. Thrush was never in control of this. I came up with the plan, and I provided the information on the satrap's location, and what it supposedly held. And now, with this, I can take control of the UNCLE labs and continue my research without the bungling, power hungry egos that crowd the board of Thrush Central. One day you will understand this wisdom. In the meantime, you are powerless to stop me. Science and technology...that is what UNCLE desires, just as Thrush desires it. I have simply changed my mind about those with whom I shall share my expertise and vision".  
April thought she would slap the man midway through his dissertation, but Napoleon stopped her with a glance. Let him talk, as long as they got back in time...But what if they didn't.

As the car came screeching to a halt in front of the doors to UNCLE Medical, April was closing her communicator. She had called in the information, letting the doctors know that they had the antidote. The information she received she kept to herself as Napoleon hauled Palmeras out of the back. Both men were going to have surprises waiting for them inside, and April thought it best to let the scene play out as it must. The doors opened with the trademark whoosh as the three people entered the medical wing. Anxious eyes watched them as they neared Illya's room, the furtive glances they exchanged not escaping the eyes of the dark haired man whose own resolve was shaken to its core. He continued to drag the former Thrush doctor as April trailed behind. Her eyes kept low as she anticipated the coming storm. She noticed Ned Miller among the personnel at Illya's bedside and wondered how he felt now, in light of what she knew.  
"Dr. Tower, Ned...I have the antidote...what's going on?" He jumped from face to face and then, as the bodies parted, to the sight of his partner. "Illya...you're..." he sucked back a cry of relief as he laid eyes on a fully awake Russian. "How...Ned, did you figure it out?" The lab tech smiled, recognizing the relief and exhaustion on the CEA's face.

"Yes, Napoleon, he figured it out". Illya's voice was barely above a whisper, but he too was relieved and exhausted. The battle with the poison had taken its toll on his body, and what he really desired was for the room to empty and so that he could just go back to sleep.  
"Who, Mr. Solo, have you brought us?" Mr. Waverly gestured to Dr. Palmeras, his bushy eyebrows signaling the need for an answer from his Chief Enforcement Agent.  
"Ah, yes sir. This is Dr. Leonard Palmeras. He developed the poison, and has provided the antidote, but too late to be of any use, it seems". Napoleon's learing expression made it clear to everyone in the room what he thought of Palmeras.

No doubt the man had taken his time about turning over the now unnecessary potion.  
"Yes, I have no doubt that there is a wealth of information that he will be sharing with us. Mr. Solo, make certain that he is detained in interrogation. I don't believe we have need of him here at present".  
With that a section three agent was on the spot to take Palmeras in tow in spite of the doctor's objections. His schemes were failing and UNCLE would not be welcoming him as he had envisioned. He had chosen his path poorly, it seemed.

"Ned...tell me all about it. What happend here? The last I heard it was...not looking good". Napoleon shuddered when he remembered what Waverly had said about Illya being near death.

"Well, you see Napoleon, we isolated the poison, and then were able to construct an antidote based on those properties, Illya's blood type and..."  
"Whoa...his blood type? What did that have to do with it?" Napoleon didn't always understand what the lab guys were saying, but he'd never heard of poisons being based on blood type.  
"Oh, that was the key to this poison. And, it was the key to an antidote. No matter what your Dr. Palmeras told you, there isn't just one antidote. It all depends on the blood type, and Illya's is B. It was a matter of finding the enzymes and alleles..." Napoleon blanched at the thought of enduring a chemistry lesson. Ned caught the look and found a quick resolution.  
"It took a while to figure it out, but once I had it he responded immediately. It was close, but I'm happy to say we have the best lab personnel in the world". Napoleon grasped the man's hand and shook it, his smile expressing all of the gratitude that was in his heart over the excellent work done by these UNCLE technicians.  
"You're right about that Ned. You guys are the best. Thank you".  
April took the opportunity to grab Ned's arm and steer him towards the door. Some of the other lingering staff took the cue, leaving Napoleon and Illya alone in the room with Mr. Waverly and Dr. Tower.  
"Young man, you have monopolized my day and the resources of UNCLE almost completely. I trust that you are well on your way to mending ". The old man's eyes took in the sight of his Section two second in command. Illya was propped up on two pillows, his hair in various peaks around his head. He managed to nod in response to Waverly's comment, understanding the unspoken concern; he was appreciative of how involved his superior had been during the ordeal of his near death experience.  
"Sir, I shall endeavor to be out of here quickly. And, thank you". The blue eyes were sharp now, no longer hindered by the poison that had earlier tried to claim his life.

"And, what about me? I've been all over the city tracking down this mad scientist and his antidote. And you managed to get yourself cured without it. I don't know if I'll try so hard next time". He winked at his partner, both of them understanding that everytime this happened, nothing would stop either of them from moving heaven or hell for the sake of the other.  
"Napoleon...' At that moment words finally failed Illya Kuryakin. He was tired, and relieved and glad to be alive. He felt grateful for all of the effort that had gone into saving him. It was humbling, but in a way that gave him a sense of belonging unlike anything prior.  
"Perhaps coming so close to losing one's life is good for the soul...even a Russian soul'. He paused momentarily, a deceptively shy expression claming the blond's guileless looking face.  
" Now, if you don't mind, I think I am close to falling asleep...' His eyes scanned the room, taking in each man before they began to move as one towards the door.  
"_Spokoi?noi? nochi druz'ya moi, i blagodaryu vas_". Napoleon turned to look at his bedraggled friend, then replied for each of them...  
"Good night to you also, Illya, and... you're welcome,_ tovarisch_".


End file.
